


Vandalism Cures Loneliness (and Other Lessons They Don't Teach at Wittenberg)

by trashprincehamlet



Category: Hamlet - All Media Types, Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-04 18:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17309564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashprincehamlet/pseuds/trashprincehamlet
Summary: The heir to the throne of Denmark carves his address onto a table at a tavern in hopes someone will read it and write to him. To his surprise, letters enter his mailbox, and a dear friend (or more) enters his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I understand I have other works that more people are interested in and that I haven't updated in years, but this is a fic for a play that's very, very close to my heart - I hope y'all enjoy it! Inspired by actual graffiti that I saw at a bar last weekend - except it was someone's number, and I'm sure the company they were seeking wasn't exactly purely platonic (not that Hamlet/Horatio is purely platonic, but you get my drift).

Hamlet sat in the tavern and cast his eyes around, having ordered water and a little chicken stew for dinner.  The heir to Denmark’s throne could have bought all the fancier food the bar offered, but the stronger German brews were a far cry from the champagne at Elsinore, and the chicken reminded him of his favorite meal from home.

It was not only the drinks of Germany that unsettled Hamlet. Not unsettled – not really, he’d travelled a lot as a child, accompanying his mother and father on official visits abroad. The young prince merely longed for home. He did not know anybody in this city, no close friends, no familiar places. (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were also in Wittenberg, but they were more hangers-on and flatterers than friends.)

He missed Ophelia and her botany books; his parents and their encouragement, his uncle Claudius sneaking him more sweetmeats than he was allowed after dinner. Hamlet even missed volatile Laertes, who was now studying in the famed university of Paris.

The prince took out a small hunting knife, and etched a short message in Danish.

_Are you looking for a friend? Write to this address._

He carved the address of the expensive accommodations his mother had found him, and hoped someone would write. The loneliness really was kicking in.

\--

Horatio rushed to the city center as soon as classes were out. It wasn’t that he hated school –he loved it, in fact. The lecture had just gone overtime, and his stomach wanted lunch. At least he had no afternoon classes that day, so he could take his time eating.

This section of stalls all belonged to the cloth merchants, and they made him think of his parents. They weren’t poor, exactly, but there were many nice things they could not afford – university tuition being one of them. If not for that German official who’d noticed Horatio reading in the back of the little shop when he bought a bale of silk, Horatio would have stayed trapped in Copenhagen, never to set foot in Halle-Wittenberg.

He walked into the nearest tavern, making sure everything was affordable. Of course they were – one of the stipulations of the scholarship was a tidy sum allotted for personal expenses, but it was force of habit. If you’d grown up in a household where the money was stretched thinly for six growing children, impulse buys had to be avoided at all costs.

After getting a humble vegetable soup and a small cup of ale, Horatio examined the table which was covered in the writings of many patrons. While he wasn’t too happy with damaging furniture, the graffiti made him curious. What were these people thinking when they carved their messages here? Who were they? Had they enjoyed their meals with friends or had they supped alone?

Well,  _he_ certainly felt alone. Even back home in Denmark, Horatio had never had many friends. How much more here, in this city where everyone was probably richer than him? Most of these princes and dukes probably weren’t eager to associate with this poor boy.

Suddenly, he saw one Danish note among the German ones. What did it say…?

_Are you looking for a friend? Write to this address._

_Why, I certainly am looking for a friend_ , he thought.

For the first time since arriving in Germany, Horatio decided to spend on something that wasn’t a pressing need. He’d write a short letter while he ate, then send it by four o’clock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably really, really, REALLY rusty from barely writing for the past year, so please send comments! Will update /hopefully/ within the week, after uni enrollment gets sorted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> author.exe has received an unexpected burst of inspiration and has updated earlier than expected!

Hamlet was getting lost in a book after three boring hours of Geography when the night-watchman called.

“My lord, a message for you.”

“I shall be down shortly,” Hamlet replied, trying to be polite even if he wanted to scream at the man for interrupting his reverie.

Hamlet made his way down the apartment steps, trying to adjust to the real world after having read so much English mythology. When he reached the door, the messenger gave a quick bow, then handed him the missive.

Back in his room, Hamlet opened the letter, wondering who was writing to him so early after he’d left.

_Dear friend,_

_I read your note on the table at a tavern whose name escapes me at the moment. You wished for a friend and for someone to write to you, so here I am. I apologize if this letter is awkward, as I am quite shy and am not in the habit of talking to others._

_Today was my fifth day at university. I enjoyed the Literature lectures best, though everything is equally interesting. The professor is incredibly knowledgeable about his subject and it impresses me that one person could know so much. He’s also happy to answer students’ questions, quite unlike many other teachers!_

_Mother and Father reminded me not to slack off, so I must write my Philosophy essay now. I apologize if this letter is quite short – I’ll write again soon._

Hamlet examined the handwriting. It seemed unrefined and written with a cheap quill, so it was unlikely that this had come from anyone he knew. However, the language was strangely formal in its diction and the letter made mention of university, so it couldn’t have been a peasant.

Was it a stingy college boy with bad handwriting, or a scholarship student?

\--

Hamlet had enjoyed all his classes so far, even Mathematics, which he’d hated as a child. However, he really wasn’t sure about Art.

He’d been trained a little at home, so he wasn’t _bad,_ but everything his tutors had made him draw was simple – shapes and cubes, some landscapes. Who knew what they’d ask of him at university? Draw a perfect human figure? He couldn’t even draw hands!

“Good morning, boys.”

A drowsy “good morning” echoed through the art room.

After several reminders about what they’d be doing in this subject (quite useless, thought he, everyone knew what art was), their teacher told them what was to be done today.

“Before we study and analyze some well-known artworks, or learn to sketch anatomy and more complicated things, let’s have a little exercise. Turn to the person beside you.”

Hamlet had been zoning out, and lazily moved his head toward the boy seated next to him. He had a pleasant, cheerful face, though he looked a little unsure. The prince was happy to know that he wasn’t the only nervous one in this class.

He realized that the shyness on his seatmate’s face had turned into shock.

“What might be the matter with you?” Hamlet asked.

“My lord…I wasn’t aware…that you were at Wittenberg…”

“Oh, no need for these formalities, call me Hamlet and sit down!” The prince of Denmark stopped his companion, who was beginning to bow.

“I was merely giving you the respect you are due as prince of my country,” the boy said, embarrassed.

Hamlet wasn’t listening to the apology. “Are you Danish, my friend?”

The boy was even more embarrassed at the Prince of Denmark addressing him as “friend.”

“Yes, my lord. Horatio, from the cloth merchants’ quarters in Copenhagen. I’ve seen you many times, with your mother and your father.”

The conversation was cut short by their professor giving instructions. “Now that you can all see the person next to you, sketch their face as best you can. No need for colors, though you may paint your drawings if you wish to do so.”

Hamlet reached for the parchment and a stick of graphite. Horatio had dark hair, freckles splashed across his brown face, and brown eyes that showed how eager he was to learn.

The prince made a slightly misshapen oval, and began to add little details. He knew it wasn’t perfect-the eyes were the shape of almonds from a certain angle, and the nose was extremely…questionable, but it had turned out better than expected.

Later, when they were sharing their drawings, Hamlet looked at Horatio’s sketch of him. It was also quite rough, but it was definitely much better than his own artwork. Horatio, for his part, wasn’t paying attention to the quality of the drawing. He was still quite surprised that the prince of Denmark sat next to him in Art.

“I apologize if it’s quite crude,” Hamlet said, before leaving class, “but your face is too good-looking to capture on paper.”

He immediately regretted what he’d said, turned red, apologized profusely, and left a very flustered and confused Horatio standing in the doorway of the lecture hall.

\--

Hamlet sat in the courtyard, trying to figure out the geometry equations. Special right triangles were quite difficult, and he was sure to spend the entirety of his two hour lunch break figuring these problems out. Mathematics was quite interesting, if one liked that sort of thing, but soulless numbers held no beauty for the prince, nor were they easy to make head or tail of.

Hamlet gave up and decided he’d solve these later. Lunch was more important than Math.

“My lord?” came a soft voice from behind him. “Were you, perhaps, having difficulty with Mathematics? I can help you out…”

It was Horatio.

“Yes, Horatio, it would be appreciated. And please, call me Hamlet.”

Horatio sat down by him, and began to explain.

“Why are you solving these things with the Pythagorean Theorem, my-Hamlet?”

Hamlet ignored how embarrassed the last two words made him. “These are right triangles, Horatio.”

“M-Hamlet”-Horatio tried to get used to calling this boy by name and not by title-“these triangles are special right triangles. There is a shorter way to find the missing sides.”

“How?”

“This triangle has interior angles that measure 45, 45, and 90 degrees. That means the legs, one of which is given, have the same measurement. The hypotenuse is the measure of the leg multiplied by the square root of 2. The other triangles have the same angle measure, so, the shortcut is applicable to them as well.”

Hamlet was in awe and only half-listening to Horatio’s mathematic jargon. Was there anything this boy _didn’t_ know? Had he read every book in existence? Of course he probably hadn’t, but the prince reflected that he wouldn’t be surprised if this was true.

After they had finished answering the worksheet together, Hamlet stuffed his books into his rucksack, then turned to Horatio. “I’m thankful for your help and I may as well return the favor. If you have no engagements in the evening, I’d like to have dinner with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can figure out, I have a particular soft spot for tragic Danish boyfriends /both/ having bad handwriting (although Horatio's penmanship is actually quite neat when he gets ahold of a nicer quill) + pre-play Hamlet being super shy and Not Knowing How to Navigate Feelings + Horatio having a hard time breaking the habit of calling Hamlet by his title aidufapdiuaf 
> 
> This was supposed to be a coherent end note but I am a soft gay with too many feelings I'm so sorry please return to your regular programming 
> 
> P.S. The geometry discussion in the last part is an actual conversation I had with a friend back in high school ahahahaha


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on fire guys I'm rediscovering my love for these two fools and I can't stop myself, two updates in under 24 hours I'm surprised at myself !!!

At the tavern, Hamlet decided to respond to his pen pal’s letter while waiting for Horatio.

_Dear friend, I am glad someone responded to my note. I was not expecting anyone to care! I believed everyone would merely sit and eat without paying the graffiti any mind, or would cover it in their own inscriptions._

_It is true that I wish for a friend. This city is quite new for me, and having nobody to talk to has made me quite sad, even if I do enjoy university. No need to feel ashamed of yourself-I, too, enjoy being alone._

_Fifth day at university! It is good to know that your lectures are a source of great joy, Literature especially. Great teachers seem to have died out with the empire of Rome and are rare today. May you continue to have such knowledgeable professors. I enjoy Literature as well. Books are quite magical, are they not? In fact, there have been many times when I wished to step into the world of a book and lose myself in it, never to come back. Sometimes, the characters in stories-imaginary though they are-have kept me better company than my friends in this world._

_I await your next letter. Keep safe._

He was sealing the letter when Horatio arrived.

“My lord, I apologize for being late.”

“Oh, think naught of it, forgetting appointments is easy. I barely even remember the genealogy of Jesus.”

Horatio laughed. “I see you just came out of Theology.”

“You guessed correctly, Horatio. While I never liked the subject much, our teacher is rather interesting, quite a character, is he not? Martin something…”

“Martin Luther, m-Hamlet.”

“That fellow who nailed that long, long, list to the chapel doors of the university last year, before our class came in, isn't he? That caused quite a stir, to say the least.”

“I believe so, as there aren’t many Martin Luthers in Germany. He has plans to reform the Catholic Church, and while many want him to burn for heresy, I’d be lying if I said I disagreed with him.”

Hamlet was surprised at Horatio’s open-mindedness. The only person back home who was like that was Ophelia, who loved listening to newfangled ideas and pitching them at Hamlet, even if Polonius dismissed their back-and-forth as childish. Remembering her, he imagined how much happier she and Laertes might be, had they been born to a less stuffy father.

“Why do you say so?”

“I had the opportunity to ask him some questions after class. Many of the things he wants to change do make sense, when you think on it. For example, indulgences. Can God’s forgiveness really be bought with tidy sums of gold? Is Heaven only for the rich? It has always seemed to be merely an avenue for clerical corruption, but could I complain about it? No, I would wind up in a torture chamber for daring to question. Torture too makes me wonder about the Church. Christ treated everyone with love, even unbelievers. It was merely an accident of birth that they were born Mohammedans or Jews instead of Christians, not by any sin of theirs. Besides, are Christians - and Christians from Europe - the only people capable of being good? I don’t believe so.”

Horatio looked at Hamlet in embarrassment. “My apologies, my-Hamlet, I rambled quite a while.”

 _My Hamlet._ There it was again. Although it was just Horatio having difficulty shedding the stiff decorum that had no doubt been drilled into him, and probably not a sign of anything more, the prince struggled to hide how flustered he was as he responded, “I see nothing wrong with going on and on about your passions. Listening to intelligent chatter is enjoyable.”

“My parents never thought so,” Horatio said. “They were always more interested in working the cloth shop than reading books.”

“Who says parents are always right?” asked Hamlet. “While it’s true that they care for you and love you and are more mature about many matters, they can’t possibly know everything!”

“You seem to have some grudge against your family back home, my lord,” laughed Horatio.

“Not really, but, well, they seem to expect so much of me,” sighed the prince. “I am eighteen. I do not wish to think of all my kingly duties just yet. I need more time to read books and watch plays and eat good food and do more things of that sort!”

The rich had their own set of anxieties, thought Horatio.

Their food arrived, and the two of them whiled away the time talking about the peculiarities of certain professors, whether Danish pastries were preferable to German ones, and other lighter matters.

Several hours later, they parted for the night and said their goodbyes, both wondering why they felt so strangely alone after bidding farewell. It wasn't loneliness, or sorrow, or anything of the sort. It was rather like having to spend time away from a part of your own soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I made Martin Luther their theology professor since he historically taught at Wittenberg, and I'm really unsure about when exactly Hamlet is set but I couldn't resist putting in that Easter egg of sorts, haha. Please send comments~


End file.
